Chasing Harry Winston
by L'auteure
Summary: "Santana Lopez has a better reason to be in a jewelry store than to ask 'Santa Baby' for bling." Santana-centric, intended Brittana relationship. Written to make up for the cut of Santana's Christmas solo. Thank you!


If Santana's Ray-Bans weren't practically glued to her face, the lights would have blinded her. Her eyes adapt quickly, though, and soon the sparkling forms from behind the glass cases cause her insides to run cold. In an effort to calm her nerves, she hesitantly peels them off and fiddles with the stems as she takes a deep and what she hopes, at least, is a calming breath.

"Welcome to Harry Winston." The high-pitched voice comes from Santana's right, and when she turns to look—lo and behold!—there stands a black version of Kurt Hummel smiling his baby face at her. "What may I help you with today, miss?"

"Uh," Santana stutters. She reaches to stash her sunglasses in her yellow Birkin bag as she chokes on her own words. "Um, hi."

The fairy in the paisley ascot steps from behind the mahogany desk and approaches her confidently. "My name is Pepper," he chimes as he offers his hand.

_Oh, dear Lord_. "Santana," she provides, taking his hand and giving it a harder-than-entirely-necessary squeeze. It's worth it to see him flinch, though it was barely noticeable; Santana's just accustomed to enjoying other's weaknesses.

"Pleasure's all mine," Pepper grins regardless—though he pulls his hand back rather quickly. "What are you looking for this morning?"

She's brought back from her sadistic glee and remembers just where she is. Subsequently, she reverts to sounding like she doesn't understand English. "Um, yeah. Yes."

"Christmas gift?"

Santana only nods. She averts her eyes to the glass cases again. After a moment of silence, Pepper drops his perfect posture and brings his hands from behind his back to resting on his diaphragm.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asks in a gentler, less professional tone. Santana would scoff at him for patronizing her, but she doesn't actually mind it right now. She'll let it slide, just this once.

"Sorry," she falters, again, "Yes. Lopez."

He immediately seems to realize to whom he's speaking. "Of course," Pepper's grin grows impossibly friendlier, "I've been expecting you. Please, let's sit."

He leads her further back into the salon and sits behind a table with a glass top and periwinkle velvet lining the display of jewelry underneath. Santana follows suit, placing her purse at the foot of her chair draping her pea coat over its back. Smoothing her dress down as she sits, Santana waits as Pepper opens a side drawer and pulls out three small boxes.

"I brought out the three I thought would fit your description best, but if none of these please you, please remember we have a very large selection at this location alone." He then lowers his voice and says with a wink, "We will find the perfect one. I promise."

All Santana can think about is how she hopes he can't notice her trembling.

Pepper opens the first black velvet case. "Here we have a classic—and our most popular selection. It's a round, brilliant-cut colorless diamond, set in platinum with tapered baguette side stones..."

As the flaming gentleman in front of her continues explaining the ins and outs of the ring, Santana ignores him. Instead, she tries to imagines this very same ring on a different, slender finger. She tries to think of holding the very same hand that would sport this bauble. And—most of all—she tries to bring up the face Brittany will make when she opens the box Christmas morning.

"No," she interrupts. Pepper, who was in the middle of a sentence, stops immediately and looks up at her. "That's not it."

Instead of huffing or looking insulted, Pepper's smile grows softer. He closes the box with a simple, "Next one, then."

He opens the second box, but remains silent. Santana peers inside; this time, it's a single, round diamond with a gold band. She looks up at Pepper to see her staring just as intently back.

"No?" he offers.

Santana shakes her head in affirmation.

This case is also snapped shut.

Pepper takes the time to replace the first two boxes in the still open drawer to his right. He then centers the final box in front of Santana—but draws his hands back. "This one—" he begins. And then he stops. And then he starts again, "Well. You go ahead."

Tentatively, Santana reaches forward to grasp the case, holding it just so in front of her face before just barely cracking it open. The box, with a mind of its own, springs open the rest of the way on its own accord.

And, immediately, all words are lost.

Well, all words except for: "Excuse me," which is exactly what Santana utters as she rises, grabs her coat and bag, and basically bolts for the front door.

When she reaches the sidewalk just outside of the salon, she halts. It's cold, and it's windy, which makes it even colder. So Santana backs up just a bit and takes refuge behind a pillar next to the door. She opens the mouth of her bag to fetch a yellow box of American Spirits, and roots around for her lighter—which has apparently decided to go missing-in-action.

"God _damn_ it," she sighs into her chest in defeat, cigarette hanging limply from her finger. Just as she leans into the brick wall behind her, she senses someone round the corner and join her.

"Need a light?" Pepper, now in a trench and beanie, offers, holding out a silver Zippo.

"Thank you." Santana accepts it, lights her stick, and hands it back. She starts to reach into her bag for the box again. "Want one?"

"No, thank you. I prefer menthol." He pulls a green box of the same brand from his own jacket.

The two stand in silence enjoying their smokes for a good three or four minutes before Pepper speaks up. "What's her name?"

Santana doesn't even pretend to misunderstand him. "Brittany Susan Pierce."

"Does she know you're here?"

She giggles a bit before she answers. "I sure hope not. I drove four and a half hours out of my way to make sure she got the best."

Pepper joins in laughing. "On behalf of Harry Winston, we appreciate both your compliments and your patronage." There's another beat of silence before he continues. "Where are you from?"

"Lima."

"Ohio?"

Santana nods. Pepper whistles.

"I know," she chuckles. "It's supposed to be a surprise anyway."

"I figured. You're a little young to be shopping for this now, aren't you?"

She doesn't have an answer ready for that one. She stops for a bit to think. "I guess I thought that I should pin her down now before she realizes how much I don't deserve her. Plus, having Daddy's approval _and_ his credit card probably isn't going to last much longer." She smiles to show she's joking, but it wavers.

"You love her?" Santana nods. "Everybody else know you love her?" Santana nods more fervently. "You deserve her, then."

She turns to look the man in the eye; she notes, funnily, that his eyes are dark blue. Probably rare for a black guy, and very pretty. She also believes that this guy probably knows a thing or two about "forbidden love," even in a city as liberal as Chicago. So, Santana settles for accepting that this guy she just met is undoubtedly right.

"I'm sorry for, uh—Sorry for running out."

"You're not used to this whole 'nervous' thing, are you," he states. It's not a question.

"Around her? I never will be."

Pepper looks at her for another stretch of time. Santana figures he's analyzing her. But when she watches him reach into his pocket and again pull out the ring box, she's sure he was.

"It's the one, isn't it," Pepper says. Again, it's not a question. He opens the case and Santana takes another glimpse at the ring. She doesn't have to listen to Pepper list off its qualities to know it's absolutely perfect. Light yellow-colored diamond, emerald cut. Antique-looking platinum band.

But what Santana really sees is Brittany crying in joy when she sees it the first time herself, and Brittany knocking over Santana with sweet lady kisses—which is easier when the Latina is already down on one knee in front of her. She sees Brittany twiddling the ring around her finger when she's nervous before another one of her dance auditions. She sees Brittany freaking out because she thought she might have dropped the ring down the bathroom sink (and she sees the both of them laughing when, after an unsuccessful adventure breaking apart the pipes searching for it, they find it hiding in the fuzz of the floor mat). And she sees Brittany pulling the ring off so she can let a pretty, giggly, sweet-as-sugar little girl—that has, like, the cutest combination possible of the both of them—try it on herself.

"Yeah. It really is."

"So. Paper or plastic?"


End file.
